Page 28 of Romancing the Artist

Even if she was attractive, that didn’t mean he had to be attracted to her.

Wives were anchors. No matter what Grace had said about sails and wind and whatever else she thought about good matches. Edward had things yet to do. If only he could convince his father that they were as worthwhile as sitting at home and minding the estate.

But that would mean telling his father Edward wanted to leave. And the senior Mr. Everly had made his thoughts on his son’s future abundantly clear. Family duty came above all else, and travel for the sake of travel was the mark of a frivolous mind.

Charity continued to stare at him, her nose wrinkled. “Should I worry for you, Edward?”

“No,” he said quickly, forcing himself to laugh. “Perhaps I ought to worry over you and why you were in such a hurry that I did not have to pace the corridor for half an hour waiting for you. Is there a gentleman in attendance this evening I ought to give attention to?”

Charity protested at once, as he knew she would, and the two of them let the conversation devolve into laughing with one another about the way their peers continually fell in and out of love, or fancied themselves to do so. Charity took the idea of matrimony no more seriously than Edward did, and when they weren’t beneath their parents’ gaze it was something of a relief to find the ridiculous in future marital plans.

When they arrived at Inglewood Castle to the sight of blazing torches, Charity and Edward were in the best of humor with each other and their neighbors. The servants moved with precision to pass guests from coaches into the house, and up again into a large common room littered with chairs and people, all of them laughing and talking amiably with one another. Someone murmured in his ear who he was expected to take into dinner, and then he and his sister were left to their own devices.

Charity broke away from Edward the moment she saw friends amid the two dozen young people crowding the room, but Edward hardly noticed. As soon as they entered, one person had drawn his entire attention. The guest of honor, Miss Caroline Clapham, stood before the empty hearth, her hands folded before her, and her face nearly as pale as the gloves she wore.

People clustered together on either side of her. Men and women he had grown up with and knew quite well. But they were all talking to one another, as though unaware she stood still and mute among them.

He had thought it curious, how quickly she gave her attention to children at the picnic. He hadn’t seen her speaking to anyone else after he had parted from her, either. She had hovered at the countess’s elbow or followed little Lady Irene from one side of the orchard to the other. When they had spoken, first in the woods and then during the picnic, she hadn’t been shy.

Why then did she appear as though she wished herself anywhere but there, as a guest in an important household?

Edward made his way to her, forgoing subtlety. He smiled at himself. Perhaps Miss Clapham was right about him. He did tend to charge into whichever direction he meant to go. A few friends looked up as he arrived in their circle, some offered greeting.

“Everly, good to see you. Did your sister come?”

“Everly, old chap. Didn’t think you liked these sorts of parties.”

“Merrell. Oddsen.” He nodded to both, but pointedly broke eye contact to fix it on the woman who stared at him as though he’d found her hiding place. She shifted to one side as he turned his shoulder to slide in between her and the person standing nearest.

Then he bent his head and spoke softly, “Your impression of a Greek statue is a marvel, Miss Clapham. You must be a champion when you take part in charades.”

The shock on her face transformed into amusement. “Couldn’t you tell? The whole room is playing. The tableau is called Being Late to Dinner.”

He scoffed. “I am not late.”

The room quieted as the earl and countess entered the room, making their way to the middle. “Welcome, young friends, to our home,” the earl said in his deep, booming voice, and Caroline gave Edward a meaningful raise of her eyebrows the instant before the earl drew attention to her.

“We thank you for coming this evening to meet our guest, a dear friend to Lady Inglewood, Miss Caroline Clapham.” The guests responded with a smattering of applause, and those who hadn’t seemed to notice Caroline before turned toward her with polite smiles in place.

Caroline turned into a statue again, with a strained smile. The earl kept speaking, and attention drifted away from her. Enough so that Edward felt comfortable bending toward her to whisper, “Courage, sprite. A dinner party is nothing to fear.”

She blinked up at him once, and Edward grinned at her. “I am not a sprite—”

The earl had finished speaking, applause followed again, and Sir Isaac Fox appeared with a wide smile.

“Here we are, Miss Clapham. I have the honor of taking you into dinner this evening.” He nodded to Edward. “How does everyone at Everly Refuge, Edward?”

“We are all well, sir,” Edward answered with a slight bow of his head. “I thank you for asking.”

“Wonderful to see you here this evening.” Sir Isaac offered his arm to Caroline, who took it with a grateful smile. As though she already knew him quite well.

The baronet was married, equal in age to the hosts, but he and his wife were both present. Likely to assist in chaperoning the crowd of misses and gentlemen who weren’t yet tied up in matrimonial strings. Edward had always liked Sir Isaac and looked up to him as he did the earl and the vicar who had married one of his sisters. Those three men, now pillars of their community, had treated him as they would a little brother when they spent time at Everly Refuge.

Sir Isaac would set Caroline at ease. Indeed, while Edward watched them lead the procession into dinner, Sir Isaac whispered something that made Miss Clapham laugh. A feat Edward had attempted but hadn’t yet achieved that evening.

He pushed away the disappointment and went in search of the lady he had to escort through to dinner. With any luck, he’d be near enough Caroline to keep an eye on her. Perhaps help her navigate the evening.

It was the least he could do, after all her kindness. It would help begin gossip in their favor, too, if those in attendance noticed his attentiveness.